sure that the person with the money gets to keep it in case of a divorce?”
“Usually,” said Luisa, lighting another cigarette.
“Well, what does the prenup say?” I asked.
“I don’t know—I never read it. As far as I could tell, it was already a done deal when Emma came to me. Richard and his lawyers had prepared it, but Emma needed to review it with independent counsel before she signed it, and she wanted me to help her find someone. I had to send her to another firm, of course. We focus on international commerce, not New York State law, let alone domestic affairs.”
“Why didn’t she go to her family attorney?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine that people as wealthy as the Furlongs didn’t have an entire battalion of lawyers at a discreet midtown firm, watching out for their interests and billing for every six minutes of service.
“She did. But for whatever reason they suggested that she get someone else to represent her. It seems hard to believe, but perhaps their firm doesn’t have a department that handles marital law.” Luisa sounded skeptical. Or, I thought, reading into what she’d left unsaid, they couldn’t advise Emma, in good faith, to sign it.
“I don’t get it. Why would Richard insist on a prenup? I mean, if Emma’s the one with all the…” Jane’s voice trailed off. She was too well brought up to remark explicitly on Emma’s extraordinary wealth.
“Ugh. God only knows what goes on in Richard’s slimy little mind. He probably had some slimy reason of his own,” said Hilary.
“Maybe he was trying to prove that he didn’t have any slimy reasons,” Jane ventured. She insisted on looking for the good in everyone, even when there was none to be found.
“Oh, Richard’s all about slime and slimy reasons,” said Hilary. “I don’t trust his motives one bit. I bet he can’t wait to get his hands on Emma’s money.”
“From what I’ve heard, he already has,” I said. “There are rumors in New York that the Furlongs are the silent partners backing Richard’s new agency. They’re only rumors, but where there’s smoke there tends to be fire in situations like these. I don’t know where else he could possibly have gotten the money. The offices are gorgeous, and the launch party he had must have cost a fortune.”
“You’re kidding,” said Jane in disbelief.
“I wish,” I replied.
“What a skunk,” said Hilary. “You’d think he could at least wait until after the wedding to start raiding Emma’s bank account.”
“The money’s certainly attractive to him, but I think he’s even more excited about all of the other advantages that come with being part of the Furlong family,” said Luisa.
“What do you mean?” Jane asked.
Hilary snorted. “Come on, Jane. Money can buy some things, but not everything. Talk about a name that opens doors! Emma’s father is literally world-famous and has all of these incredible art world connections. And Emma’s mother is related to half of American history, what with all of the Winthrops and Mathers and Jeffersons in her family tree.”
“And let’s not forget the Astors and Rockefellers and Du Ponts,” I added.
“Plus all of the things that money can’t really buy,” Hilary continued. “All the Social Register bullshit and seats on philanthropic boards and photos in W and Vogue. Oh, and did I mention club memberships? Dicky’s probably drooling over the prospect of his own locker at the Racquet Club.”
“Okay, okay, I get the point,” said Jane. “But if this is all so clear to us, why isn’t it clear to Emma? What is she thinking?”
In the moonlight I saw Luisa arch one thin dark brow. “I wish I knew. It’s as if she’s sleepwalking through the entire thing.”
“Maybe there’s something to Richard that we can’t see,” Jane said.
“Like what?” Hilary challenged. “He loves animals? He’s kind to his mother?”
“I don’t think even that’s true,” said Luisa dryly.
“Emma’s not stupid,” Jane answered. “And while her taste in men has always—” she struggled to put it delicately “—left something to be desired, she’s always figured it out in the end. There must be something good in him.” She was clearly hoping that if she said it enough times she would start to believe it.
“Well, whatever it is, he’s managed to keep it pretty well hidden,” said Hilary.
“That’s for sure,” said Luisa.
“Here’s what else I don’t get,” said Hilary. “Even if Emma’s been suckered by Richard, I can’t imagine her parents falling for him. They’re much too savvy. And Emma’s so close to them—if they had any objections, she would have taken them seriously. But they—well, especially Mrs. Furlong—seem completely gung ho about this wedding. It sounds like it’s going to be a real three-ring circus, what with the hundreds of guests and two bands and champagne flowing out of fountains.”
I wondered if I should say anything about the exchange I’d overheard earlier between Emma and her father. It was bad enough that I was guilty of eavesdropping. Surely I shouldn’t compound the sin by gossiping about things I hadn’t been meant to hear. “Maybe her mother’s doing the entire parental reverse psychology thing,” I replied while I was internally debating the merits of full disclosure. “You know, where they don’t want to tell you exactly what they think because they’re afraid that that will make you do exactly what they don’t want you to do? Or that if they tell you what they think and you go ahead anyway, the situation gets really awkward?”
“Is that how they handled these things when you were growing up in Ohio?” asked Hilary. My midwestern childhood had provided almost as much amusement to my friends as my romantic history, particularly after they discovered that Leave It to Beaver was set in my hometown. In fact, Ward Cleaver had once boasted to his sons about having been the best kite flyer in all of Shaker Heights in his youth. That my parents, with their thick Russian accents and bookish ways, bore not even the faintest resemblance to the archetypically all-American white-bread Ward and June Cleaver didn’t seem to matter.
“No need to be snotty,” I said, but even I recognized that my reverse parental psychology hypothesis was fairly lame. I decided to go for full disclosure. “Besides, regardless of what Emma’s mother thinks, I’m pretty sure her father’s not too happy about Richard.” I briefly told them about the argument I’d overheard. I felt slightly guilty, as if I’d betrayed a confidence, but I was so worried about Emma. Perhaps I was hoping that somebody could explain what I’d heard in a way that would make everything all right. I was out of luck, however; my friends found this information just as disturbing as I had.
“What could possibly make Emma talk to her father like that?” asked Jane, shocked.
“I don’t know. They’ve always had such a good relationship. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her raise her voice to him before.”
“He was really telling her to call it off?” Luisa asked.
“He was practically begging her to,” I confirmed.
“Unbelievable,”
